


The Trade Deal

by Eonneo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face Slapping, M/M, Physical Abuse, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Eonneo
Summary: You have everything you need in your gang. Food, ammunition, alcohol. But there's justsomethingyou don't have, and you're willing to trade for it.





	The Trade Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. Look. I felt inspired to write RIGHT before bed. This may have errors. I'll fix it tomorrow, for sure, but I HAD to get it out. So it's quick. And I plan to write another alternative where you pick John instead of Arthur. SO BEAR WITH IT. I still like it. It's still good. And a bit different than what I write.
> 
> I NEED HELP. I NEED SO MUCH HELP. AUGH. WHY DO I KEEP WRITING THIS?!??!?!
> 
> **EDIT:[HERE IS THE ALTERNATE JOHN MARSTON VERSION!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20358883)**

You stood at your camp, overlooking its members. You were proud of it. You had built this thing from the ground up. Of course, some of that ground had been stolen. Taken. Illegal. But none the less, _you_ had built it, and you were proud of it. And by the Devil himself and all the fires of the black pit, you would be damned before it would be taken from you.  
The problem was, many were trying to take it. You had resources. Weapons. Ammunition. Alcohol. The works. Your camp didn't move often. In fact, it had set up on a large pathway, where you charged a toll to go through for all carriages. Many complained, but when faced with your men, they obliged happily.  
Lately, you had been set up with some certain activities. Bonds. Alcohol moving. Lots of great stuff. And many people were ready to get in on it. And depending on their offer, you were ready to share your wealth, knowledge, and other items. But with as much as you owned, you didn't need much. There was a specific service you had been looking for as of late to satiate your need. Something you did not possess.  
A good time.  
You had plenty of members in your camp. But what you wanted was different. Harsh. Something that you didn't want the members of the gang knowing about you, lest it show weakness. Only your closest member of the group knew, and he was tasked with finding you that particular service. At least, getting the word out that you were looking for trade deals. He was to be careful with who he told and what they wanted. You trusted him.  
So the time came that three men approached your camp. They were greeted warily, but welcome to your tent. An older gentleman, who wore a vest and had dark hair, and quite the voice. Two other gentleman, one with long hair and scars. He was different, for sure. But the third one caught your eye. Sharp features. Blue eyes. Clean shaven. He was damn good looking.  
You'd have been happy with any of them offering themselves. If that is what they offered.  
“Now, we come here today in peace. We are interested in acquiring some money. Now, we have no problem on our end with plans for money, but I heard you're looking for something different. Something that I think we can offer you.”  
“Go on,” you said passively, sipping alcohol, leaning back in your chair, looking at them with a large disinterest.  
“I wanted to offer you the service of my dear friend here,” Dutch introduced, holding his hand out to the one you had liked the most.  
“Hello,” he quietly said, accent quite thick. “Arthur Morgan. Pleasure to meet you.”  
Your eyes widened, and Dutch noticed, a hint of a smile on his face.  
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Morgan.”  
“You tell us what you want, and we will deliver.”  
You took a deep breath, considering the option. He was likely the best looking offer you had seen in some time. He was larger than you. Strong. Well built. He was exactly what you needed.  
“What are you asking?”  
“Bonds,” Dutch said without thought. “We want bonds.”  
You thought more. But it didn't take much thinking. You had bonds until the end of time.  
“It's a deal. Mr. Morgan, return tomorrow when you're rested, and speak with my second hand. Then we can get started with the deal. But don't disappoint, or the deal is off.”  
“Thank you, truly,” Dutch said, and the men stood. The third man had never spoken. He must have been back up if things went South.  
So you spoke to your second hand. You gave every detail, every limit, and a safe word. He was an expert by the end of it, and while a bit shocked, did not challenge you at all. When you felt he were good and ready to deliver the instructions, you sent him, and rode your horse off into the woods. Not far was a cabin, perfect for what you wanted. Secluded. Nobody would hear the sounds.  
Night began to set. You put on a small amount of clothing, easily ripped off, and set up a fire. Pouring a drink, you sat at the table, sipping, waiting. You had high expectations, both from your second hand to deliver instructions, and Mr. Morgan to abide by them. Otherwise, the deal was a no-go.  
You heard footsteps. Your heart began to race. It was time.  
He opened the door. He was dressed in near black. It was a good start. Quietly, he shut the door, then turned over to you. At first eye contact, you felt lightning go through you. His eyes widened at the sight of you scantily dressed, leaning back in the chair, fire behind. Then the surprise turned to determination, stepping over to you with large, loud and slow steps of his boots. Once to you, he stopped, looking down. It was a daming sight.  
His hand lifted, grasping your chin, tilting your head to the side. You had the faintest hint of a smile, but hoped it hid well. Slowly, his grasp began to tighten, moving to your neck. And slowly, you began to gasp, clawing at his hands, mind hazing. He lifted you, both by your neck and arm, kicking the chair away and pressing you against the wall. His grip on your neck loosened, and his blue gaze was harsh.  
“Pretty big of you to think you're worth this kind of _deal._ ”  
“You accepted it, didn't you?” you replied through a tight voice.  
He pressed you harder, with more force.  
“It's an easy good time. I get all the benefits, with an easy little excuse of a gang leader.”  
You smiled, teasingly.  
“Go to Hell.”  
He inhaled quite sharply, lifting your chin up and meeting his lips with yours. His tongue parted your lips, and you just fell into it, hands grasping his sides, one moving over the forming bulge in his pants. The kiss was hot, sticky with saliva, and you both almost forgot what the situation was supposed to be.  
He pulled away and grasped your hair, tilting your head back, examining you. As your neck became more exposed, he leaned down, biting hard. You yelped, and this seemed to please him, soothing the bite with his tongue, sliding it back up to your mouth. This didn't last long, again tilting your head back, but following with a harsh slap. You gasped.  
“Though you's tough? Ran a gang?” he commented, hitting again, bracing it with his hand in your hair. You instinctively grabbed his hand, but he jerked it back, slapping again.  
“Fuck, that hurts,” you conceited.  
“Weak,” was all he said, moving you, leading you over to the nightstand. He bent you over it, removing a short rope from his side, tightly tying it, leaving marks across your skin. After he did so, you jumped just a bit, his hand grasping your ass hard. He aligned his hips to yours and began to grind you, and you worried he were going to get to the fun a bit too soon. But he knew better, stepping back reluctantly. After. he pulled you away from it, dropping you onto the floor. You were on your knees, looking up at him, captivated by his size. From his side, pulled a sharp, small knife, and bent down, making quick work to shredd your already loose clothes. Here you were, bare, and ready. But he wasn't done.  
With one hand, he removed his belt, snapping as it released from the loops. Arthur held it out, the leather inches from your face. You had nothing to say, anxious for his next move, hoping for what it would be. After looking at you for a moment, he sighed, smiled slightly, then tied the belt around your neck, wrapping the other end around his large hand. He seemed quite aware of the power he had over you in that moment, and so were you. He could kill you, so easily. You fucking loved it.  
Tentatively, your air flow began to dissipate, and you felt yourself gasping as his hand rose. Right at the edge, when you thought you would black out, he loosened some.  
“You do realize how easily you've let your guard down, don't you? If I ended your life right now, it wouldn't be hard to run that run down gang of yours.”  
“Then do it, cowboy,” you hissed, and he pulled on the belt again. It was amazing, being right at the dge of nothingness, just to be brought back to everything. Just as you came back, the sharp pain of a slap stung your face, and you groaned loudly.  
“How's that?” he asked, but you didn't reply. This was a challenge to him, and he did it again, harder. “I asked you a goddamned question.”  
“Good,” you breathed.  
“Good, _sir_ ,” he command, hitting again, numbness tingling your face. “Say it.”  
“Good, sir,” you repeated, driving his hunger further. He lifted you by the arms, practically carrying you to the bed, sliding your ropes over the headboard. Your arms were far above your head, stretched out on the bed naked and exposed. You hurt, damn well.  
Arthur stood back, looking you over with intrigue. He liked this. He liked this more than he probably wanted to admit, and while he had kept his charade up well, he was wanting more. Shucking off his boots, he crawled onto the bed, fingers trailing up your thighs. At your torso, he dotted his lips all over it, up your neck to your sore cheeks, until they were at your own lips. You wanted to just grab him, drape your arms around him, but your restraints reminded you of your exposed, weakened state.  
After a while of kissing, you were disappointed when Arthur withdraw, undoing his pants. You spread your legs some, but he lifted them up his torso, stretching you further, aligning himself to you. Slowly, he entered, head back in the feeling. You made no noise, caught up in the way you felt around him.  
Moving, just slightly, his hands held your ankles, nails digging into them just a bit. His hips had good rhythm, speeding up some, hitting harder, hitting just the right spot. You couldn't hold your voice for long, moaning some, clenching your jaw. Your legs stretched further as he leaned over you, kissing you, a mess of tongues and saliva. The heat between your bodies grew, bed shaking against the wooden cabins wall. He grunted some between kisses, hands clasping the sheets tightly.  
The friction sped up, the pain of the position heavy. A few more movements, and you could feel yourself growing hot, hitting the edge _hard_. You let out a loud 'Fuck!', head falling back in ecstasy. He followed soon after, and once done, you two sat there, panting.  
“You earned your fuckin' bonds, Mr. Morgan.” The words came in gasps.  
“I think I earned more than the bonds,” he replied, finally pushing off and cutting your ropes. The marks still burned, as did most of your body.  
“Maybe so.” After the events, your muscles felt sore, tight, exhausted. You just wanted to rest, knowing the next day would be filled with paperwork of Morgan's gang.  
“Mind if I join you?” he questioned, but gave no time to reply, making his way into the bed next to you.  
_Why not?_ you thought, and you let your head rest on his chest. He had not disappointed at all. This was what you wanted in a night. In a trade. He had delivered his part of the trade, and more.  
Satisfied, sleep fell over the both of you, the fire dying and the night lazily drifting by.


End file.
